Let it go

January seems to bring out quite a mix of emotions amongst people. There is the post Christmas low, the countdown to the next pay cheque (which seems to take forever) and the seemingly endless wait until the next holiday.

But then the flip side is the year of possibility which lies ahead of you, the resolutions we set and the hope those 12 months ahead hold.

For me, January arrived just in time. The last months of 2014 were odd. I felt strange, distant, outside of my norm.

Anyone who follows our blog regularly will know that we began our fertility treatment in the summer. We expected the following months to be taken up with scans, blood tests and the cycle of treatment, waiting, testing and starting again. It wasn’t that we weren’t hopeful for a positive outcome, we have learnt that life just doesn’t go to plan all that often.

And here is where I flounder. I’ve sat down trying to write this post for months. Because I truly don’t know how to be fully open without causing unintentional hurt to others. Please bear with me as I tell you that I’m pregnant.

It is something we’ve longed for throughout our marriage and particularly over the last five years. Although we were hopeful as we began treatment, we didn’t hold onto the outcome tightly.

My struggle over the last few months has been about genuinely living my beliefs out as I accept the gift of this pregnancy. There is not much guidance out there for pregnancy after infertility. There are no guidelines on how to carry your story with you into the next chapter.

A life-saver for me has been beginning counselling with a fertility specialist. For Elis and I, as we face becoming parents, it felt important to do so with open eyes, hearts and mouths. Speaking our truths to one another even when they were difficult. But counselling has helped me to shake off my guilt and sadness attached to this pregnancy. Guilt that I am undeserving of this gift when those I love are still living through childlessness. Sadness that the group I most identify with need space to grieve away from me. Which, as you read this, might include you.

I was carrying such a heaviness because I didn’t know how to hold on to the life I’ve been given over these last few years. To remember the lessons I’ve learned from our struggle through infertility and allow them to be a part of this new adventure.

Well, I felt I had betrayed the people who had brought me back to life. Who had walked the way of vulnerability, weeping and rejoicing together, living out our lives with honesty and openness and hope.

I felt lost.

By admitting how I felt I began to release some of that heaviness. To let go of imposing strict guidelines on myself for how I ‘should’ behave. To fully inhabit this moment.

Here is what I’ve learned.

I will carry my story with me and it is already shaping the parent, friend, wife that I desire to be. But I need the people who have walked this journey with us to help me stay true to what I have learned. To be with me. It is easy for people to assume that being pregnant, getting the baby, solves all your problems. That isn’t true. I could pretend and immerse myself in all things Mothercare but that isn’t where this story is going. My hope is that I will keep remembering those years of struggle and not look on them as something to be forgotten but on the place where I met God. Where I fully understood brokenness and healing love. Where wholeness happened.

There is no formula for successfully navigating infertility. I wasn’t prepared for the tumult of emotions I encountered in the first few months after we knew we were having a baby. Having people to share those thoughts and feelings with is vital. Let them out otherwise they will lead to ungratefulness, guilt and self-contempt. Trust me on this one.

My final thought (and apologies for going on) is that the greatest gift I’ve had is a spirit of thankfulness. And this didn’t start when we got pregnant. It started just over two years ago when a group of women met together and shared their stories, cried together, laughed together and prayed for one another. I went home from The Tent that day with a full heart and the knowledge that I was alright. I was enough. I had life in all its fullness and it was filled with good gifts if I took the time to look closely. And now, we have one more gift to thank God for. One of many.

“Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
Carrying seed to sow,
Will return with songs of joy,
Carrying sheaves with them.”
Psalm 125: 5-6

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Apart from undertaking all things vicar wifeish, Sheila
enjoys spending her days drinking coffee with friends, cuddling cats,
laughing until she cries, reading books and dreaming of exotic holidays. She was once a primary school teacher and may well be again. Sheila loves being a part of the Saltwater & Honey family and having the chance to share her journey through infertility.

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16 Comments

A truly honest story that is straight from the heart, it would be wrong to not congratulate you on such great news, so congratulations and enjoy all that growing a baby brings. Fertility treatment has to work for someone or no one would have the faith to keep going through the tough journey you have had, you both are an inspriation to many I am sure x.

“Atta girl.” (May I write that without crossing over some British line of impropriety?) I’m really glad you wrote this, because anyone who has gone through what you have would struggle with similar feelings; it’s like the survivors’ guilt that some experience. It’s a real emotion. You will always be sensitive to those who bear the burden of infertility—and doubtless, you will sadly have many occasions to lead other young moms in understanding the pain of their sisters who are unable to look forward to what they themselves may take for granted.

Thanks Mike for crossing over the line of impropriety! I think I needed to write this and start talking more about this strange place where you don’t know exactly where you belong. I’m hoping I do as you suggest and am able to help others understand the complexity of infertility. Lots of love to you and Mary. We miss you! x

I once had good friends who I had hoped to share the journey of parenthood with but it hadn’t happened for them yet, and we didn’t know if it ever would. Confusing emotions from a prior question mark over my own fertility and the subsequent guilt and loss of shared experience/place with them that followed when I got pregnant drove me crazy. If only I’d understood the situation and myself better (like you have come to)then it might not have ended up in such a mess, but it was messy on many and all levels. I see now that there was always going to have been mess, upset and space but that it could have been handled very differently. A wise mentor would have been great. Sheila that will be you one day. It took until my baby was born to actually joyfully want and welcome him because of my guilt and self loathing. That was a very unhealthy state of mind, and it didn’t do much for my relationship with these friends. None of us had asked for that. I’m delighted to take joy in that they are now expecting and will be praying they enjoy this part of the journey and all are healthy. I’m a bit more sane now but I’m guessing my benchmark is very low. xxx

Love you & love this. You express so well the difficult tumult of feelings and I am so glad there was/is a counsellor there to help you to negotiate them. I think your blog title says it all…there’s saltwater – and you never really forget its taste and feel, but there’s also honey, and it’s good to enjoy the sweetness! Maybe the trend for enjoying sweet and salty together (salted caramel – yum!) is a kind of a metaphor for the Christian journey too…each somehow enhances and completes the other. (You can’t have the resurrection without the cross)… xxx

Hi Sheila
Not sure if you and hubby remember meeting me & hubby over some balsamic drizzle during a lunch break last April? Haha 🙂 I tried emailing you a few weeks ago after reading this blog, but it may have gone to spam(?) or I didn’t get your email address right, so I’ll try resending it in a minute.

I just wanted me to say I could have written nearly all of your blog myself as we have also fairly recently managed to get pregnant too and after our six year journey, but it’s still incredibly hard to believe even as I’m starting to feel the little one bouncing around in there and fend off all the “well meaning” people with their “well it’s what you’ve always wanted, so why aren’t you shouting it from the rooftops now it’s happened?! Painting a nursery? Buying every baby gadget & accessory imaginable?” etc etc…. well I’m afraid I’m only up to talking one day at a time thank you! Not of course that we aren’t excited at the prospect of hopefully becoming parents this summer, but we can only take it in at our pace and with three friends who lost babies late in their pregnancies, that’s slower than all our fertile friends!

Saltwater and Honey is a collection of voices sharing their stories about infertility, miscarriage, childlessness and faith. These experiences can be painful and leave you feeling isolated but we want you to know that you are not alone, it’s okay to grieve and your story matters.